Night Light

Mia Stryker knows how to set a scene. She arrives in the attic bedroom wrapped in a black satin robe, its pink trim catching the amber light of the two bedside lamps as she kneels on the white covers and lets the dressing gown fall open. Underneath, a pink striped satin bralette traced with black lace sits against her skin, paired with a matching thong, and the effect is all warmth and intimacy in that low-lit space under the sloping wooden beams. Green star projections drift across the wall behind her as she gazes into the camera, her dark hair framing a face that is equal parts mystery and invitation.

One by one, the layers come off. The robe slides away, then the bralette, until Mia stretches out across the white bed in nothing at all, the lamplight painting her in honey and shadow. The galaxy projection has deepened to amber and red by now, its scattered dots glowing against the headboard like a private constellation. She lies back with one knee raised, completely at ease in the warm glow of the room she has made entirely her own, the night light living up to every promise of its name.

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